


Haul Wind

by MisMisto



Series: Hawke this, Hawke that [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue Hawke (Dragon Age), Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canon: Isabela is a fridge raider, Dorks in Love, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mild Hurt/Comfort, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 18:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisMisto/pseuds/MisMisto
Summary: “I know. And… Thank you. If it makes you feel any better I don’t intend to screw everything up like that anytime soon, hopefully never.” She chuckled softly, hand moving down to Marian’s chin and tilting her head up slightly. “Not with you insisting to clean up my mess for me every time.”“It’s not a mess,” Hawke whispered, her eyes soft. “And you won’t.”She can’t be real, Isabela thought to herself.”





	Haul Wind

“Ah. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Hawke sashayed her way through the hazy, awed gazes of the Hanged Man’s patrons and towards the pirate queen, flashing her own wicked grin to match Isabela’s.

“You could say that again.”

She wore the willowy, ivory robe from last night’s festivities that stopped just short of her knees, made of creamy silk that flowed and caught the sun with each step. It contrasted beautifully with her warm black hair and, Isabela sighed to herself, _not_ so charmingly with her weary brown leather jacket and ankle boots, the colour of which almost makes the flakes of dried mud look like they’re _meant_ to be there. She can always count on Hawke to be the _worst_ at fashion and still look smashing, not that she’s the most qualified person to judge, she noted to herself, idly scratching at her butt and combing through her hair with her fingers. Hawke laughed at her expression.

“I know that look, Isabela, and no; you’re looking _wonderful_ and yes, you can always come to my place for a bath should you wish to.”

She snorted in response, almost spilling her bottle of whiskey everywhere and ruining everyone’s morning, including hers. “Only if you join me. But surely you can’t have stumbled here by chance- it’s too early for your daily visit and too late to still be hungover,” she leaned against the counter and smirked, gesturing at Hawke with her bottle. “Though I’m not exactly complaining, what with you wearing that dress that I could go on for _hours_ about how flattering it looks on you, if half of Kirkwall leering at you when you walk by wasn’t any indication. But maybe, just _maybe_ without the boots and jacket sprinkled with six years’ worth of mud and blood.”

Her grin widened as Hawke turned redder and redder, and they both gave a hearty laugh by the end, Hawke tugging at her jacket and burying her face into her palm half-heartedly.

“You were gone by the time I woke up and I was worried something was wrong, so I went looking for you.”

“Hm? And I’m guessing there I was, in the first place you checked?”

“Exactly. Well,” Hawke frowned. “Not quite, I asked around if anyone had seen you around the docks first.”

Isabela’s smirk softened. “Afraid I might run away on you again?”

Hawke looked up with genuine shock in her eyes, and clasped her hand in hers.

“What? No! Why would I?”

Isabela looked away. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Wh- You made a promise, and I _know_ you wouldn’t break it without good reason. I was worried you were sick and hiding around the docks again.”

Isabela chuckled, more so at the way she said it than the memory itself. “What was it you said? ‘I found you by following the smell of your whiskey and splotches of vomit’? Or _shrieked_ , rather?”

“You forgot the ‘daggers and baby knives’ part, honey.”

She barked out a laugh, in no small part thanks to the pet name. “The _what_?”

Hawke gaped at her, deadpan. “Andraste’s sword Isabela, you don’t even remember _yourself_ telling _me_ you threw them around because you got mad at them poking at your arse?”

“Ohhh,” Isabela nodded slowly in realization. “So _that’s_ why there was blood down there. I thought it was _you_.”

“Isabela!”

“Alright,” she held her hands up, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were still upset. _You_ mentioned it first, though.”

Hawke shook her head and brought her other hand to hers. “It’s alright just-… You can’t imagine how terrifying it was to find you like that. You were nearly…” she looked down. “I needed to be sure.”

Isabela sighed, bringing her free hand up to Marian’s cheek, thumb caressing her freckles.

“I know. And… Thank you. If it makes you feel any better I don’t intend to drink or screw everything up like that anytime soon, hopefully never.” She chuckled softly, hand moving down to Marian’s chin and tilting her head up slightly. “Not with you insisting to clean up my mess for me every time.”

“It’s not a mess,” Hawke whispered, her eyes soft. “And you won’t.”

 _She can’t be real_ , Isabela thought to herself. “Don’t say such things. It almost makes me _want_ to believe you.” 

Hawke just gave her that lopsided smile that made Isabela want to throw her drink away and jump into her arms. _You’re in it big time, Isabela._

“Right,” Isabela cleared her throat and laid her hand back onto hers. “That still doesn’t tell me why you’re wearing _that_ with _those_. If you were planning on seducing me back to your house this is _not_ the way to go.”

“Ugh, it’s not like I could have got out _fully_ half-naked.”

“Well you’re already wearing that dress, so why not go _all_ the way?”

“I was in a hurry! And it’s fairly clean. And-…” she gestured to the air. “You know what, I think we should make this a recurring theme. You know, you and I, dazzling our opponents’ minds out of their arses with our dashing good looks before they can make a move and _then_ beating them to death senselessly.”

Isabela took a sip of whiskey and smiled into the bottle. “Wouldn’t that also increase the chance of us getting beaten to death senselessly, Marian?”

“Well you know I can’t be trusted with fashion choices. If you decide to go through with any of them then it’s _you_ who should be worried, not me. In all seriousness though,” she pursed her lips. ”I would gladly go along with it to avoid those _Maker_ _awful_ pre-combat one liners. Why do they even _do_ that? It’s like we’re in Varric’s novels!”

Isabela threw her head back and laughed, and gave a small smooch on Hawke’s cheek when she recovered.

“Never change, Hawke. I beg you.”

“Right, but! Does this mean you’ll come home with me? There _is_ still a few hours left until the afternoon we can sleep away.”

Isabela hummed thoughtfully. “That depends. Did you know you were out of cheese and drinks? That’s the reason why I came all the way here to get them, after all.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows at her, abashed. “You keep raiding the fridge every three minutes and you expect me to keep up with you?”

“Well, you know what you signed up for. _And_ I believe I made my conditions perfectly clear.”

Hawke huffed out an exasperated sigh, trying to force down her smile and play along. “Fine. Not _now_ , but later today?”

Isabela winked at her as they clinked their drinks. “Deal.” The sound of ceramic against glass echoed in the Hanged Man, and some of the patrons grinned and clinked their own drinks in response, some raising their cups and drunkenly cheering at the Champion.


End file.
